Watercolours
by aiienzo
Summary: Demyx is nothing. But in a world of darkness, how can music echo something Demyx can't find within himself? Zexion attempts to discover why the musician's sound is so enticing.
1. 1

**AN: Sadly, I have never been able to play Chain of Memories. Still, being the dedicated fan I am (try "obsessive"), I did my research and hopefully, I have done this right. I know my characterization of Zexion is still a little shaky, but I'm working on it. This whole thing is an expirimentation of whether or not I can pull Zexion off. Comments and crit is more than welcome. **

* * *

Everything about him unnerved Demyx.

From the shady responses, to the soft, tenderness in his voice that belied a constant electrical spark under his skin, Zexion was downright unapproachable. Even the way he walked dictated his tyranny, in its own set right. The soft footfalls that echoed across the wide space of the halls and atmosphere were caused only by the heavy boots, made black to blend with the cloak that seemed to move with his body rather than swish out behind him, lashing and biting. No. He was an observer. A thinker. Waiting for the right move.

He was three positions above Demyx, but the way he held himself often pronounced an underdeveloped sense of supreme authority, lost only by Zexion's disinterest in politics and sudden action. He was younger than all other members, smaller and quieter, but when he spoke the room silenced to hear his voice, a rare occasion in meetings that caused for a spark of attentiveness throughout the Organization. The ceilings and tiles themselves became engrossed in the words Zexion would lay out, closing in for a better view, before he was finished and that compacted feeling left the air as voices raised up again, just blabbering and shouting that was accompanied with wild hand gestures.

Still, Demyx knew most of the Organization members quite well, save Xemnas and Larxene, the latter of which frightened him to the point of suffocation, and the former being someone that he understood wouldn't take too well to light, fleeting jokes and musical interludes. But Zexion, however, had only the excuse of being formidable, even alarming, and the look he sometimes shot Demyx (something carefully hidden behind locks of hair and narrowed eyes) was enough to detour the musician time and time again from the act of communication.

So Demyx stayed in his place and kept his routine, always curious by never dwelling, as he simply wasn't good at it. He resigned himself to the floors of The Castle, idly humming nonsense or fiddling with his sitar. People rarely called upon him when he was alone, but often sought him out when the group was together, Xigbar delighting especially in Number IX's similar form of light, playful humour and Demyx's ability to keep the situation as troubled-free as possible.

Being which, it came as quiet a surprise when footsteps quietly echoed in the hall Demyx occupied, currently amusing himself by creating small pillars of water until a new job needed to be done - and one that the musician could handle.

The steps were light and every one of them purposeful, Demyx could tell, and knew instantly that whoever it was deserved that special, higher form of respect he often unconsciously gave those members that he liked better than others.

When the body stepped around the corner, Demyx promptly let his pillar fall from his palm in surprise, slashing to the ground with a loud slapping noise and making a mess. The person ignored him, however, and continued on their way past his outstretched body in the hall, mindlessly stepping over his feet.

"Hi, Zexion," Demyx said quickly, if only because he was the politest one out of all of them, and at least had enough of himself intact to remember proper ethics in an organization with positions such as theirs. But there was also a hint of surprise etched in the back of the musicians words, and Zexion caught it. He turned around to face Demyx, hands crossed over his chest and eyes hidden behind blue strands.

He cocked his head and stared at Demyx, saying nothing.

"What are…what are you doing up here?" Demyx asked, a sudden lurch of awkwardness flopping over in his stomach as he realized he was laying sprawled across the floor carelessly while Zexion looked down at him, probably thinking him unsavoury and unrespectable.

But curiosity got the better of him and he simply moved his leg slightly, as if he was totally comfortable in the position, and waited nervously for a response. After all, it was uncommon that either Zexion or Vexen were seen straying far from their libraries and labs in the never ending pursuit of knowledge.

Demyx remembered hearing that knowing too much would eventually drive one mad. He had always become nervous after that, just as he had when someone told him that learning something new would cause him to forget something old. He'd sometimes spend days trying to remember his past life, as far as he could go, and lock onto it, hoping that he could contain the thought and all others that followed after it and ultimately cheat the process. Perhaps, he would think time and time again, perhaps that's why he was so reluctant to talk with Zexion. Was he insane?

Zexion waited before answering, his harsh eyes opposing the softness in his stare as he finally turned his head down slightly, nodding to Demyx.

"What are you doing?"

Demyx opened his mouth, but found his voice failed him. He swallowed and looked around at the water on the floor, wondering for a fleeting moment whether he could convince Vexen to freeze it over and create a booby trap, when he remembered Zexion standing above him, eyes locked and waiting for a response.

"I'm, uh…well, I… Nothing. I guess."

Demyx looked up and caught Zexion's eyes, a grimace on his face as he wondered whether or not the mess was bothering Number VI. Zexion unfolded his hands and motioned towards Demyx, saying lightly, "Come with me, then. I have something I want to show you."

And he was disappearing back the way he came, towards the lower levels and Demyx knew, he _knew,_ that Zexion was headed back to his own personal space, way below the castle and far deep into the white dungeons.

Demyx, after a short pause in which he made sure that those words _did_ just come from Zexion himself, shot up after him, trying to mimic the Nobody and walk as softly as he could, realizing that the one person he wanted to understand had just invited him where only Zexion had ever tread before.

And his pulse beat quicker.


	2. 2

Zexion was shorter than Demyx, and as the two of them proceeded silently down the hallway, the younger member felt rather like an overgrown child, following the mature adult down the pathway to enlightenment. Still, it was different from being the shadow of, say, Xaldin, who merely took that assumption from Demyx and played it out, strutting about the Castle and claiming to know things Demyx would only dream , yet all the while paying little attention to the Nobody behind him. It was stupid, really, but Demyx actually felt like Zexion was fixed with him right now, and only him.

It's not like Demyx wasn't aware of his obvious deficiencies compared to the rest of the Organization. And although the only requirements were approval from the leader and the overwhelming desire for a heart, Demyx still felt alarmingly out of place. He couldn't explain why he simply wanted to sit in the corridor and pluck the strings melodically instead of shedding blood and tearing hearts, but the thought never appealed to him. He was content with just being and doing what he could to assist the Organization, even if he couldn't do it well.

But it never deterred him from getting to know the other members, Axel in particular. The two even went on missions together at times, scouting out the worlds with disinterest and renaming the towns they favoured to suit their tastes better. And though Xigbar was an easy enough guy to talk to, the eager Nobody wouldn't waste any time in challenging Demyx to a one-on-on confrontation, if only to "tighten up their skills," or help Demyx "improve," neither of which Number IX took comfort in and quickly backed out, retreating into the deeper halls where he wouldn't be bothered.

But Zexion - Zexion was a mystery to him. A member that was part of the original six apprentices, and surely - _surely_ - far more powerful than he let on. The boy - for essentially, wasn't he still a boy? - that convinced Ansem himself to build that underground laboratory that would eventually lead to the corruption of Xehanort and the experiments that led each of them into the darkness. With this reminder fresh in his brain, Demyx began to panic, twitching his fingers slightly as he opened his mouth once, twice, three times to ask what Zexion wanted, but each times words failed him.

Did Zexion need a test subject? A lab rat? Someone like Demyx that he could easily fool with the musician's constant optimistic behaviour and undoubting nature?

Despite these thoughts, Demyx continued to trail along behind Zexion, suddenly feeling weak in his legs as he watched the boy's hand drop to his side and the other one run idly through his hair.

He seemed…almost inhuman. Far more than the rest of them, at least. The quiet type. The one you always needed to watch out for.

They continued in silence as they descended through the Castle, going down far deeper than Demyx had ever thought about. Zexion finally halted when they reached a large white door, imprinted with a large lexicon and a small VI scribbled at the bottom, a Nobody sign etched into the doorway like it was made from the power itself.

Zexion stopped outside of this and scanned the white walls as if seeing them for the first time; he then looked back at Demyx who stood a short ways behind him, nervous and submissive.

"I've never had guests," Zexion stated plainly. "I hope you'll excuse my poor welcoming skills."

"Oh, not at all," Demyx replied quickly, trying vainly to sound as educated and proper as Zexion did, but immediately fumbling over his thoughts as he tried to figure out what he had just replied with. 'Not at all,' as in 'I don't mind at all;' or 'Not at all' as in 'that is not at all acceptable.'? While he mentally cursed himself for not simply saying 'No problem - it's cool," Zexion gave him a small smile.

"Come in, then."

And he opened the door, inviting Demyx inside of his own personal chamber, which, Demyx realized as he took his first steps inside, was drastically different from the four walled bedroom he had to himself on the upper levels. Staring around with an open mouth, he wondered blankly why on earth Zexion would want a heart back so badly if _this _is what he got for becoming one of the first generations of Nobodies.

The far wall was nothing but a giant window, the planed glass set to resembled the large Nobody emblem that reflected off of the other walls in the large, spacious room. A door on right hand side was left ajar, opening to what looked expectantly like a roomy study, books piled high from ceiling to floor and notes left scattered on the desk and chair. The main room itself was littered with chairs and sofas in sterile white and gray, giving the place an oddly contrasting look of being cleanly cramped.

"Wow," Demyx said lightly, crossing the room and stepping haphazardly around the various cushions to look out of window. The view held nothing but nothingness itself, but Demyx was still mesmerized. He rarely went outside anymore and was starting to forget what the world looked like outside of his black walls.

"You don't have a window?" Zexion called softly, shutting the door behind him.

Demyx shook his head. "No. I barely have a room. …I don't think Xemnas likes me much."

"No, I don't think he does either," Zexion replied, walking over and closing the door to his study. Demyx felt a twinge of surprise, but tried to clear his head. What had he been expecting? A 'Oh no, Demyx, you're lovely!' or a 'Xemnas likes you just fine, you know'? He mentally cursed himself. No one had ever made him feel useful before, why start now? Especially Zexion. Demyx may know very little about Number VI, but already his intensely stoic nature and reputation were proceeding him.

"I can see that he treats his favourites well," Demyx said, letting out a light laugh that was almost a bit too forced. "Show you off, maybe? Put your best foot forward, things like that."

Zexion stared at him intently, and Demyx swallowed, immediately regretting his words. "Xemnas doesn't reward loyalty, Demyx, only demands it. You are treated the way you are because you have yet to prove your worth, and will continue to remain where you are until you rise above your own faults."

"I give him loyalty," Demyx responded, his fingers cold on the glass as he stared back at Zexion through the reflection. "I give him what I can, but it isn't much. I mean, I know I'm not a good fighter, or the best with words, or miraculous at anything that could be considered notable, but at least I'm staying alive, right?"

"True," Zexion smiled. "And it's a bit ironic, really, since you're trying to much harder than I am to please. I get my rewards for merely existing; for helping to deceive before we knew the consequences. So, I suppose you could say that luxuries like mine are an apology. An atonement for what we unknowingly thrust ourselves into."

Demyx sighed and slumped to the ground, his head against the cool glass of the window as he watched the waves outside ripple and churn. "Still," he sighed softly, "it would be nice to have something different to look at for a change. You know what I mean?"

When Zexion didn't answer, Demyx turned back to find the boy watching him, a small smile playing at his face. "Yes," he answered, turning away. "I do."

Demyx, somewhat befuddled, refocused his gaze out of the window as Zexion began rummaging through drawers in a end table by one of the many couches. Demyx tried to ignore how the situation wasn't as tense as he thought it would be and not to burst out laughing at the relief he wasn't strapped down to a table as needles were being shoved into his arms.

But more direly, he tried to ignore how suddenly comfortable he felt.

"Here," Zexion said finally, pulling out a faded notebook and sitting across from Demyx; not close enough to reach out and touch him, but close enough to where he was able to whisper and still be heard. "I wanted to give this to you. I figured, you know, you'd find it more useful than I ever would."

Demyx glanced down as Zexion held out the notebook - a tore up little thing, with browned edges and water damage that would never be undone - and held it gently in his hands, weighing it and touching the sides gently; he had no idea what was contained inside, but he felt that any gift Zexion would give him deserved to be appreciated to its fullest extent. He ran his fingers over the spine (with Zexion watching him carefully through concealed eyes) and was about to open the cover when a knock on the door interrupted them.

Zexion stood up with a grace that Demyx would never have been able to mimic and walked quickly to the door, turning back to give Demyx a pointed look as his fingertips brushed the handle. Nodding frantically, with his breath caught in his throat, Demyx ducked down behind the couch and huddled there, the notebook clutched between his hands as he hid himself from view.

He wondered fleetingly why he didn't feel embarrassed. Unwanted. But at the same time, not only was he in Number VI's room, but holding a gift from the boy as well. Always to look on the bright side of things, Demyx found the whole situation entirely bearable, even amusing. If you had asked him not more than ten minutes ago what he expected to be doing, this would not have been at the top of the list.

He heard the door open and Vexen's voice rang out, laced in frustration.

"Zexion, what are you doing?"

Zexion replied calmly, his usual stance unperturbed. "Apparently, not what I'm supposed to be doing. What is it, Vexen?"

"You're next for the Twilight Town shift, you know this. Xemnas will be unforgiving if there is no one there to monitor the town."

"My shift doesn't start until two more days, or however time passes in that town," Zexion said, a light attempt at humour going unnoticed at the end. Not that Zexion cared, however. It was more sarcasm than anything else on his part.

"Larxene came back early."

"What? Why?"

Vexen sighed, irritated as he recounted, "She said the job is too frustrating to her, unable to leave behind the trail of dead she's known for. Xemnas gave her the city over by Wonderland. That place is falling apart anyway."

Zexion sighed. "Alright, I'm leaving. Just let me straighten something up in the back, and you can tell Xemnas that I'll stay there for my shift and the rest of Larxene's, if that's what he wants."

And with their goodbyes, Zexion closed the door behind him and walked back into the room towards Demyx.

"Come," he said lightly. "I'm leaving, and I doubt my Watchers will take too kindly to you lingering around this area without my presence."

Demyx didn't need to be told twice and jumped up towards the door, Zexion's notebook still pressed firmly against his chest. Zexion left with him, shutting the thick door and causing a small slam to echo through the corridor. Demyx glanced around for Vixen, but the man was long gone, back to his own studies.

Demyx jumped as a portal opened up behind him, and he turned just in time to watch Zexion stepping into it.

"Wait!" he said, and the boy halted, the wisps of his cloak barely catching in void, urging him onward and into the darkness.

Demyx faltered again in his speech as Zexion looked up at him through lidded eyes, storm-blue hair cascading down gently in front of his face and waving slightly in the faint suction of the portal. He waited, hands at his sides and eyes staring unblinkingly.

"Can I…can I come back? Once you're through?"

Zexion looked him over carefully, eyes raking over every part of Demyx he could see, and finally met his eyes once more, a colourful grey hues staring into blue orbs.

"Once you learn what's in that notebook, I expect you to come back. Music would make a nice change down here."

And with that, he stepped through the portal and vanished in a haze of darkness.

Utterly confused, Demyx stared at the spot Zexion vanished for a moment, as if hoping he would pop back out and ask Demyx to accompany him; when it became clear that it was out of the question, the musician carefully opened the notebook to the first page.

His frown turned into a smile as he ran a finger across the notes lovingly, admiring the written music that danced across the page and made his hands itch to learn.


	3. 3

**I'd like to give a kind thanks to my three reviewers - **TheOptimisticPessimist, The White Raven013, and AllieReade** - for being so supportive, when it's obvious I'm still very unsure about my characterization of Zexion. This will only be a few more chapters, and I hope you'll like them. Oh! And to answer your question, yes, there will be yaoi. **

**Also, I'm a music freak. Can you tell?**

* * *

Zexion remained in Twilight Town for the rest of the week, and Demyx took to hiding in his room with the notebook propped open against his lap and his fingers working tirelessly.

The rhythms were unknown to him, and difficult to master. More than once he resorted to summoning his sitar away entirely and strangling his pillow, just to get the bottled up rage and frustration out of his hands.

The pieces were old, written long before anything Demyx currently plays, and was completely opposite of his own style. The measures graced gently from soothing ballads to 6/8 time steps of complex eighth notes that took him hours upon hours to master; not to mention that each song is unnamed and parts of the pages were pressed tightly together, so he was never quiet sure where one composition began and another ended. The style was awkward and sketchy, and in sudden bouts of agitation Demyx would wonder why anyone would bother to learn such a mess of ties and staccatos, accidentals and accents. But as the music progressed and he became more comfortable with the rhythms and composition, the notes began to flow easily together, a wave of beauty that was similar to the wave of relief that passed through Demyx when he finally realized he could accomplish this.

He played until his fingertips were thoroughly calloused underneath worn black gloves and his eyes were red from lack of sleep. He rarely left his room, even resorting to sending his Dancers to fetch him food and water from the kitchens that he devoured hungrily, relishing in the brief rest his fingers had while scanning the pages ruthlessly, replaying each of the notes through his mind.

He played until the twenty or so pages were mastered and imprinted into his brain, where he could call on them at will and run them through his head. After all, it wasn't like he had anything better to do.

Zexion came back fourteen days later, appearing quite suddenly in the middle of a routine informational meeting. Demyx had been sitting silently in his chair, bored and alone. Axel, who normally claimed the seat next to him, was off in a world somewhere, scouting the land and relaying accounts back to Xemnas with his Assassins. At least with Axel there, Demyx would have someone to pass the time with, even if all they could manage was a sort of Morse Code tapping-in-rhythm nonsense without being caught. Still, communication was nice.

"You're back rather late, Zexion," Saix questioned, a hint of chastising in his voice. "Was there trouble?"

Zexion, who leant back into his seat and eyed Saix with a loathing glare, responded plainly, "Not much. I had to clean up the mess Larxene left behind, though. A few missing people and the town flies into a panic."

Xemnas' attention was caught, and he turned towards Zexion with an uncommon interest in the subject. "Did you set it in order?"

Zexion nodded. "I had to take care of a few of them personally, but they mainly sorted out the situation themselves and calmed down. They seemed to forget the whole incident within a few days' time, actually."

"Hmm," was all Xemnas responded with, but it was enough to put the room back at ease as The Superior resumed his position with his back to his seat.

Xigbar waved his hand idly, blowing off the topic. "Aah, it's that town. Always been too close to the Twilight for those guys' well being. It's unhealthy. Hey, whose got the next shift, anyway?"

"Me, since Marluxia is still off in that town with Larxene," Luxord answered, raising his hand before letting it fall carelessly to his side.

"What, too much for the girl to handle?" Xaldin laughed, a low bitter sound that was meant to be more sexist than it was humorous.

"Are you kidding?" Xigbar answered, his eyebrows raised and a smirk on his face. "Marluxia went to watch."

The meeting was concluded not long after that, the nine remaining members each vanishing into the darkness to return to whatever business they had been doing prior. Save two.

Demyx remained in his seat, waiting to see if Zexion would do the same. When Number VI showed no signs of departing, Demyx cleared his throat and spoke up from across the room.

"How was your trip?"

Zexion looked up at him - or, at least in his _direction_ - and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Enlightening," he muttered, and Demyx couldn't decided whether it was a bad pun or not, and chose simply to smile.

"Did you understand that music I gave you?"

Demyx nodded eagerly.

"Are you busy?"

"I, um. Well, not really - "

"You either are or you aren't, Demyx."

"No."

"Good. I want to see how well you've been doing."

And Zexion vanished in a swirl of black and purple streams that swallowed him whole, leaving nothing in his white throne seat but empty air and Demyx's gaze as he stared absently, wondering if he felt half full or half empty.

---

"Make yourself comfortable wherever you'd like," Zexion said, giving the room a half-hearted gesture before flopping to the ground against the wall.

Demyx sat against the couch nervously, his sitar in his hands. "What…what are you going to do?"

"Sit here," Zexion replied bluntly, his eyes unreachable through soft layers of hair. Or, at least, Demyx figured it would be soft. Not that it bothered him that he didn't really know, of course. Not knowing never bothered him. It was one of the many difference between him and Zexion.

"Well? Are you going to play?"

"Oh," Demyx jumped slightly. "Yeah. Okay. …Yeah."

He placed his fingers against the strings, trying to summon the confidence that Zexion was able to display so carelessly.

Maybe, he thought, fingers against the neck of his guitar as Zexion watched him carefully. Maybe knowing was a little more than half the battle. A battle Demyx wanted so badly to win.

He played uneasily at first, slipping up a few times and cursing under his breath until Zexion stopped him.

"You're nervous," the boy said calmly, questionably. "Don't be."

Demyx shifted in his position, feeling ever more awkward. "I can't help it. It's just…"

"Do you think I'm better than you?"

Demyx looked up, meeting Zexion's eyes through that curtain of hair. It would have started to irritate him if he wasn't so frightened of meeting Zexion truly face to face. "At playing?"

"There has to be something, Demyx," Zexion answered lightly. "Is it because you think I can outdo you, simply because I rank higher? Because I study? Because I learn?" Zexion turned slightly, fully facing Demyx from across few meters between them. "I'll tell you this: I am not musical in the slightest sense. If you gave me that instrument right now I would stare at you as if you've lost your mind."

Demyx didn't know how to respond, so he nodded his head shyly, waiting.

"You, however, have a talent. I used to hear you when I would stray to the upper levels, and I often wondered what gave you the ability to play so well."

Demyx flushed slightly, wondering if he could ever play again without first scanning the halls and putting in monitors for every corridor. Being watched had never bothered him before, but, with Zexion, there was a feeling in his gut that wasn't simply unease, but more. Zexion, unfazed, stared him down.

"We play to our strengths, Demyx, and in your case, I mean that literally. Embrace what you have. Never be afraid of what you can do."

Demyx cleared his throat, responding with a tight, "Right. Okay," before placing his fingers on the strings once more. This time, they hit correctly.

The music flowed from Demyx like it did when he was alone, empowered with the knowledge that for once, Zexion wasn't in his presence to judge him, but to experience something he could never achieve. And surprisingly enough, it seemed to Demyx that Zexion was okay with that. As long as one of them could do it, they had it covered. As long as they understood, they would learn. Zexion was learning the sounds, the beauty, while Demyx was beginning to understand that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance that he wasn't so useless after all.

He played from memory, sometimes going as far as to improvise the notes that he didn't quite remember by mimicking the stylistic patterns he had come to love and appreciate. His mind drifted out of the room, past the waves of the sea and past the gloom that awaited him every time he stepped outside. Past the darkness and decay, past the ruin and neon lights and fake atmosphere. Past the clouds and the sky and the birds, to somewhere he was always able to find solace. Somewhere he always felt perfect. Somewhere that he always saw perfection.

He saw stars.

But they were lacking lustre and shine, a dim light in the faded hope of a real future. And as Zexion sat there against the wall, hearing tuned in to the sound from Demyx and only the sound, Demyx felt he complimented him mind's eye perfectly. A wreck of mankind, slumped against an artificial wall that was the only thing preventing him from falling backwards into nothingness, a black smear on a bleak horizon.

And as the final notes played, Demyx figured that if he had a heart, this is where it would be breaking.

---

"When's your next assignment?"

Demyx stopped in the doorway, surprised. He had finished playing over a minute ago, and Zexion had done nothing but sit and stare out of the large window. Taking that as his cue to leave, Demyx reluctantly had gotten up, summoned away his sitar, and taken careful steps over to the exit.

Now however, Zexion was looking directly at him, his arms crossed lazily on his knees, a huddled black shape that Demyx found himself oddly drawn to. Raising his shoulders in a shrug, Demyx bit his lip.

"I don't know. Probably nothing until it's my turn to take over at Twilight Town."

Zexion turned away again, eyes resuming their focus on the view outside of their fortress. "So I can expect you back here again sometime soon?"

"I -"

Demyx paused, considering the boy in front of him. Was he serious? Was this a test? Some elaborate and embarrassing set up to gauge his reaction and study it? Or… was there actually a possibility that Zexion had enjoyed his company? Demyx seriously doubted it. The music, however. That might be another story.

And then it hit him.

Of course Zexion would want him to come back. He's trying to learn. That was what he felt his purpose was, alongside the Organization's plight for recovering their hearts. He wanted to know everything. All things. Anything he could get.

Perhaps Demyx should have waited to play the entire collection.

"I don't have any more of that music," Demyx responded sadly. "I performed every piece."

Zexion let out something that might have been laughter, but Demyx pushed it aside and replaced it with the obvious scoff, because that's clearly what Zexion was known for.

"You don't have to play anymore if you don't want."

"What?"

Zexion shot him a look, but Demyx couldn't read it. The hair. It was starting to aggravate him again.

"I said," Zexion repeated, his voice softer but not lacking any of the former intensity, save a slight amount of humour. "You don't have to play if you don't want to."

The musician stood against the doorway, on hand bunched in his cloak and the other hung loosely at his side as he processed this information. "But…why would you give me the music if you didn't want me to - "

"It was the easiest way to avoid reasoning for your return," Zexion interrupted. "Now, are you coming back or not?"

Demyx reached for the door handle, his hand missing it several times before he finally grasped it with aching fingers. He gave Zexion a weary, surprised smile as he opened the door and let himself out into the doorway.

"Yeah. I'll be back."

Zexion smirked. "Great then."

And with a wave of Zexion's hand, the door slammed shut in front of Demyx's face, mere centimetres away from slamming into his body and causing severe injuries and bruising. With a small chuckle, Demyx turned away and began the lonely trek back up towards the higher levels, muttering "Pompous bastard," underneath his breath.

And he could have sworn, as he was ascending the last step, a voice called out from Zexion's room, the serious undertones ruined by the smile that coated the tips of the words.

"_Don't call me names, Demyx."_


End file.
